By Rick Redding
Executive Director
Elbow-deep in mushy chorizo, I question my judgment.
A week earlier, it sounded great when I announced to my staff that I’d help serve breakfast at the Reno-Sparks Gospel Mission. I’ve been employed at the Mission for 12 years now – executive director for the last four – but still I knew little about the food operations.
This seemed the way to learn.
I’d get up early. Have some coffee and doughnuts with the gang. Serve some tasty meals to our program clients and homeless women. Sounds good.
The plan collapsed at the 3 a.m. chirping of my alarm. I never realized how much I could loathe an alarm clock. Why didn’t I just do lunch?
I wearily staggered into the Mission kitchen a little after 4 a.m. that Friday, hoping to sit and swig some coffee, maybe read the morning paper. Instead, Chef Paul Parent tosses me a towel and some latex gloves. He points to a little kitchen sink.
“You can clean there,” he says.
I use my towel to clean the porcelain and metal handles – all the while wondering what this assignment was teaching me about kitchen operations. Humility? Submission?
My answer arrives seconds later, as Paul leans over my shoulder and says with a grin, “I meant you can wash your hands there.”
I knew I was in strange territory. You see, outside of this kitchen, I’m the Executive Director. Numero Uno. The Boss Man, they call me.
In the kitchen, though, I’m like a little kid in everybody’s way as they ping-pong from one station to another. It’s all part of the busyness of a food services division that annually prepares about 200,000 meals to the homeless and needy.
The day starts early – 3 a.m. for some – and ends past 8 p.m. for the kitchen crew that daily serves 500 hot meals to recovering addicts, homeless men and women, volunteers from a clothing closet for the homeless, and women and children from local motels.
By 5:15, I had stuffed about 200 omelettes with cheese and sausage. Cut up four full cantaloupes. Squeezed and arranged 16 tubes of nasty-smelling chorizo. Helped bake trays of tater tots.
Even made about 100 cups of coffee.
Christian music station K-LOVE plays as the first wave of Mission renters and clients shuffle into the dining room. Most grab a cup of coffee. Some stop and stare in disbelief at the “new guy” in the kitchen before turning away with a smile.
By 6 a.m., the dining room is full as the 80 men and women in the Mission’s 13-month recovery program wait for breakfast. After prayer, I take my place alongside Dennis, a program client, to serve omelettes, tater tots and toast to the steady stream of hungry clients.
There are a few good-natured wise cracks about keeping my day job. But most smile and say “thank you” as they quickly move through the serving line. Within minutes, we serve over 125 meals without a hitch.
Dinners with my wife and four kids cause more chaos.
At 8 a.m., about 60 homeless women from the Mission and city-run shelters chatter their way into the dining room.
Spatula at the ready, I again take my place. Dennis and I greet each guest with a hearty “Good morning!” Each, it seems, returns the greeting with equal robust.
As I serve, I look into their faces and wonder of their stories. I know many have or are addicted. Most have been brutalized some how, some way. They are hardened by life on the streets.
And yet this morning their eyes sparkle like school girls getting ice cream on a hot summer’s day. Excited. Happy. Thankful.
As the last woman takes her plate and sits down, I pray that we made even a small difference today. Maybe it was the meal. Maybe it was the respect.
Maybe the kind words we uttered.
Dennis and I look at each other. We both smile.
It’s only 8:20 a.m. and already it’s been a great day.
